Delivering Her Secret

by Kira Blakely

  She sucked on her bottom lip and shed her blouse, then her bra, and finally her panties. They fell to her ankles and puddled there. She stepped out of them and didn’t falter this time.

  I couldn’t take the distance between us. I crossed it in one stride, swept her into my arms, and forced my lips down on hers, claimed them with my tongue, with heat and moisture. Fuck, she was delicious.

  Sweet and warm, just what the doctor ordered.

  I gripped the back of her neck and tilted her head back, took more of her mouth as mine. She moaned against my lips and tugged at the hem of my shirt, then at the button of my jeans.

  The button popped loose, the zipper came down, and she tugged on them.

  They didn’t budge, so I let go of her again, dragged them down my thighs and released the fucking beast.

  My cock stood at attention, dripping pre-cum for her.

  She looked down at him and her jaw dropped as it had last night.

  God, I love that look. She’s in fucking awe of me.

  Charlie licked her lips. “I want to lick it again,” she said, softly.

  Wish fucking granted. I held the base of my dick and placed a hand on her shoulder, nudged her downward.

  She buckled to her knees in front of me and wet her palm as she’d done the night before, using the moisture between her legs as lubrication, rather than her spit. She stroked her sweetness over my head and down the shaft, then sucked my head between her cushiony lips.

  “Yes, girl, that’s it,” I grunted and thrust my hips involuntarily. My dick had its own mind, now, its own fucking rhythm. It wanted nothing more than to be inside this woman. So different, so sweet.

  Strong but caring. Feminine.

  Her tongue chased over the tip and lapped up my pre-cum. The more she drank up, the more I released.

  I thrust into her and she gagged, eyes watered, but she didn’t stop sucking. She was greedy, hungry for my dick, and it was hungry for her tongue.

  A familiar tingle started in my balls, and I tensed.

  Christ, it’s been a couple minutes. I’d never shot my load early before, and I wasn’t about to start now.

  “Stop,” I commanded.

  It was the second time she’d been in this position, and the second time she acted like she hadn’t heard the command. She suckled, took as much of my fat cock into her mouth as she could, teeth scraping the shaft. Her eyes shut, her jaw stretched wide to accept me, and her breasts perky, nipples two pink pebbles atop them.

  “Charlie,” I said.

  Finally, she popped free and looked up at me, her chin glistening with spit and my juices. “I don’t want to stop.”

  “I’m not coming until you do,” I replied. “Get on the desk. Lie on your stomach.” I held out my hand, lifted her from the floor.

  Charlie did as she was told. She shifted her laptop to one side and lay down on the desk, her ass cheeks two supple rounds that arced toward each other, her pink pussy hiding between them.

  Her thighs were wet. Her lips glistened.

  I placed my palm on her back and smoothed it down her spine and back up again, massaged one side of it and then the next, just below her shoulder blades.

  “What are you doing?” It escaped her in a half-moan. “That’s good.”

  “Giving you what you deserve,” I replied and stepped up behind her. My dick probed her entrance but I didn’t force it in skin to skin. No matter how bad I wanted to, I wouldn’t risk that.

  I used both palms to knead Charlie’s back, her skin rippling beneath my touch. I worked my hands lower and lower, drawing soft gasps and moans from her, which were my fucking ending.

  My dick demanded attention, pulsed and thwacked the top of her mound.

  “Houston,” she whispered. “I can’t take much more. I need you, right now. I—”

  I lowered myself behind her and took a second to admire the beauty before me. This woman wasn’t just angelic in attitude, she had the perfect pussy. Perfect for me. Soft, dripping, lips swollen.

  “Spread your legs,” I said.

  Charlie followed the instruction. Her thighs quivered from the motion, and I held them, kissed the inside of one, then the other, savoring the taste of the cum that had dripped onto them—creamy, salty, a little sweet.

  Too perfect. You’re already in too deep. One week and that’s it. One week and you’re gone. No more delicious pussy.

  I ignored the negativity and ran my finger over those lips, dipped them between and scooped up her wetness. She gasped and shuddered.

  “You like that?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Please, I want more. I need—”

  I plunged my tongue inside her slick hole, buried my face in that sweet cunt, and found my personal paradise.

  “Oh, god,” she moaned. “Oh my god.”

  I pounded my tongue into her hole, fucked her with it and circled her clit with my finger, pushing her toward an orgasm, demanding it with hungry thrusts and suckling noises, smacks of my lips.

  “Delicious,” I said, around a mouthful of pussy. “Charlie, you’re my fucking drug.”

  She arched her back, stamped her foot, and let out a wordless growl. I’d already claimed her as my girl, but now, she was my animal. My little vixen.

  Charlie moved her hips in time with the motions of my tongue, her breaths grating against the inside of her throat. She was wild, frantic, free. Fucking perfect for me.

  “I’m coming,” she breathed. “Houston, I’m coming. I’m coming! Oh, god, I—”

  Her pussy clenched around my tongue, squeezed so tight I thought she’d fucking take it off, then released again, repeated. Tremors in her legs, in her core. She was silent during, her breaths the only noise in the room.

  She worked through the orgasm, the pulses weakening at last, and I rose from my crouch and stood behind her again.

  If I didn’t fill her soon, I’d pop. My head would fucking shoot off or some shit.

  This woman gave a new meaning to the term. The feminine smells and sounds, the judder of her thighs and peachy fucking ass had brought me to the brink of this explosion. I rested the tip of my dick at her entrance and pressed gently.

  It slipped inside, and Charlie jerked forward. “Condom,” she yelped.

  Fuck, how could I have forgotten that? After what I’d been through, it was a god damn no-brainer. “You’ve turned my brain into mush,” I said and reached into the back pocket of my jeans.

  Yeah, I’d slipped a condom in there just in case. We’d had such a raw connection last night, I’d figured that spending time with her would lead to this, so fucking sue me. It was better to be prepared than saddled with a bigger issue nine months down the line.

  I brought out the square and ripped it open with my teeth, extracted the circle of latex, then eased the sheath over my length. No twenty seconds had felt longer. I’d never needed anything more than I needed to be inside Charlie, now.

  I held one of those pale, peachy ass cheeks and dug fingertips into the flesh, admired the dimples that made on her skin. I ran my thumb over her tight little asshole, and she sucked in a breath.

  “Wh-what are you—?”

  I plunged my shaft, choked by the condom, into her cunt and growled.

  Charlie let out a matching groan and tossed her head, her raven locks dancing across her back and falling to one side. She looked back at me, the muscles of her face slack, her focus on me but glazed, too. Hazy.

  “My girl,” I said and drew my thickness out of her, pounded back in again. The pleasure was nothing compared to what it would have been skin on skin, but it was enough. Warm and wet, and soft.

  What would this be like without a condom?

  Fuck it, that was a question I didn’t need to answer.

  I stayed in the now, balls deep in this beauty. Shit, that word didn’t even suit her. She was so much more than beautiful. I crammed myself into her, again and again, lost now, scraping my dick against her g-spot, fingers digging into her, balls slappin
g her clit.

  “Yes, that’s it. That’s my girl.”

  “Yours,” she panted. “I’m yours.”

  “Fuck yes.” That from her mouth was all I could handle. I dove into her pussy, buried myself, loathing the barrier that separated us. My balls tingled, tightened up, and my orgasm pulsed through me and spurted against the inside of the condom.

  “I can’t. It’s too—god. I—” Charlie tightened around me again, milked my dick, though I couldn’t give her the cum she deserved.

  We climaxed together, our bodies connected, separated only by that thin layer of latex.

  My knees nearly gave out, Christ. She’d sapped the will from me. Sapped my essence and I loved it. Love it? Love it. Fuck it. Like it. Let’s not use the wrong words for the wrong things.

  I breathed heavily, still inside her, and lifted her from the table, pressed her sweat-streaked back to the front of my shirt. I’d been so caught up in the moment I hadn’t even removed it. I trailed fingers down her front and cupped her breasts, kissed her neck, and tasted salt.

  “Perfect,” I said. “Just fucking perf—”

  A lock clicked, and a door opened down the hall. “Yoohoo. Are you home, Charlie?” A woman’s voice rang from the front.

  Shit.

  Charlie squirmed free of my embrace and spun around. “Go, go, go!” she hissed.

  “Huh?”

  “Put your pants on. Climb out the window or something.”

  I blinked at her. This was new. Never had a woman chase me out of her bedroom before. Usually, when I was in there, it was to stay. I tucked my dick back in my pants, condom and all, and zipped up.

  Footsteps thumped down the hall, followed by the sound of shoes kicked off. “Boy, the day I had. You wouldn’t believe what Marge told me. Charlie? You there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here,” she cried, her voice strangled. “Just a second.” She lowered her tone to a hiss. “She doesn’t know I slept with you. Or anyone. I don’t want to talk to her about—Ugh, no. No time to explain. Out, out. Go, move out. Out the window.”

  Amusement replaced my confusion. “Sir, yes, sir.” My whispered reply was sardonic, and I gave a mock salute.

  “Stop playing around.” She ran for her closet and jerked it open, removed a robe, and hid those curves from me, the slender legs.

  I walked across the space and caught her in a kiss that took her breath away. Her heart beat frantically against my chest. I pulled away. “See you tomorrow, gorgeous,” I said, then scooted toward the window.

  I lifted it and stuck one leg out, crouching over to fit. I straddled the window sill and grinned at her—the moment tickled the funny bone I’d never had. Doctor Pope on a windowsill, fleeing from an adult woman’s bedroom.

  I was a teenager again. Without the wet dreams and pimples.

  Charlie shooed me with her fingertips, a smile tugging at her cheeks in spite of her haste. “Go.”

  And I did. For now. But I’d be back tomorrow and the day after.

  But not next week.

  Why did that bother me?

  Chapter 11

  Charlie

  Six weeks later…

  This wasn’t how life was supposed to turn out. I hadn’t planned on losing my virginity or spending a week of pure happiness with Houston Pope, nor had I consciously decided that I’d fall for him, but both those had happened.

  “And now this,” I muttered, the backs of my legs pressed to the cool tile of Pammy’s bath, and it clutched between my fingertips.

  The mirror above the sink reflected my wan face, the puffy redness of my eyes. Ugh, this is a disaster. This is a total disaster. I lifted the stick and stared at the two pink lines that had just told me my fate.

  Pregnant. Pregnant by a man who’d left for Alaska and wouldn’t be back any time soon. Who’d taken my virginity. Who I had no idea how to contact.

  Yeah, I’d Google-stalked him, but he wasn’t on social media, and he certainly hadn’t left me a contact number by which to call him.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and held onto the stick.

  No, this isn’t a disaster. You can do this.

  The little voice was exactly that: little, but it was the beginning of another train of thought.

  I’d always wanted a baby. I loved kids. I’d just never pictured a pregnancy under quite these circumstances. Never mind the fact that we’d used condoms throughout the week we’d been together.

  The bathroom door rattled in the jamb and the doorknob turned. “Oh! Charlie, are you in there? Shoot, sorry, I thought it was empty.”

  “I’m fine—I mean, it’s fine!” I scooted off the edge of the bathtub and darted a step toward the door and then back again. Shit! The pregnancy test burned a hole in my palm. Shit, shit, double shit.

  “Are you sure? Charlie? You sound a little clogged up. Have you been crying?”

  “No,” I replied. “Just hay fever.” Thank god, it was spring heading into summer.

  “You get hay fever?”

  “Uh—” The little trash can beside the sink beckoned to me. I rushed to it, then grabbed several handfuls of toilet paper from the roll nearby. I dropped the pregnancy test onto the hard metal bottom with a very obvious bong, then covered it with the toilet paper.

  There. Or not. No way in hell that would work, but I didn’t exactly have other options, right now.

  I checked my reflection in the mirror, dragged my palms over my summery skirt and cotton blouse, then grimaced. I was still pale and puffy eyed, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.

  I pinched my cheeks—ouch—then walked to the door and opened up.

  Pammy stood outside, her hands pressed to her abdomen. “Mind? I might pee my pants if you do.”

  “Sorry,” I said and hurried into the hall.

  She squeezed past me and whipped the door closed. A beat passed followed by a satisfied sigh. “Oh, my god, that’s better,” Pammy called out. “So, are you ready to go?”

  My aunt had never had many boundaries. She was the easy-free version of my mother, before my mother had worn herself out caring for me and dad. “Ready to go?”

  “Yeah, you know, the festival.”

  Shit, again. So much for staying home and coming up with an action plan. “I—yeah—no.” I didn’t have to go to this, did I? It was the town’s Summer Festival. It wasn’t a mandatory school event, and I could envision nothing worse than going to it and hanging around pale-faced, worrying about how I’d managed to get knocked up by a man I’d likely never see again.

  “It’s going to be great,” Pammy yelled back. Shuffling, a zipper, and finally whir-swoosh of a toilet flushing, followed by running water.

  “Yeah, I’m not sure I’m in the mood to go—”

  Pammy wrenched the bathroom door open and narrowed her eyes at me. “Huh?”

  “I’m feeling a little ill. I’ll stay home, I think.”

  “Girl, I’ve known you long enough. I remember all the tricks you used in middle school to get out of going.” Pammy wriggled her nose at me. “What’s going on? You’re not sick.” She scrutinized me—I was a bug under her magnifying glass, and the sun was right overhead. Fry, Charlie, Fry!

  “Hay fever,” I repeated. “I’ve got the hay fever.”

  “You’ve got the hay fever,” she said, in a monotone. Yeah, she didn’t buy it. “You’re really going to make me go to this thing alone because of the hay fever? Which, may I add, is not how you say you’ve got hay fever. It’s not like you’ve got the trots.”

  “There’s an image.”

  Pammy extended a finger. “Wait, wait, I’ve got it.” She hurried back into the bathroom and whipped the medicine cabinet open. She rummaged around inside it and my gaze wandered to the trash can right at her feet.

  Please, don’t look down. My aunt would probably be super supportive and helpful, albeit shocked, if I told her about this, but I wasn’t ready to share it with anyone. Not until I’d figured out how I’d handle this.

  I had wo
rk to deal with, a mystery man to inform, and, gosh, this was 100 percent the end of my plans for studying to be a nurse. I swallowed, but the lump in my throat didn’t budge.

  “Here,” Pammy said and removed a pill bottle from the cabinet. She walked back and handed it over.

  The image of a hand-drawn flower, pink petals, yellow pollen, yet somehow menacing, stared back at me. “All natural hay fever remedy?”

  “Yeah!” Pammy said. “I get it, too, but mostly in spring. In fact, it’s kind of weird you have it now.”

  I tried for a weak grin. “I’ll take this with a glass of water.”

  “Good,” Pammy replied. “Then meet me outside. We’re walking down to the town square. And hurry! I don’t want to miss the fireworks.” She hurried off, the low heels of her cowboy boots clacking on the boards.

  I waited until she was out of sight then returned the pill bottle to the cabinet and shut it quietly. I tapped my foot and counted to ten, then headed out to the front porch.

  Right, so, I couldn’t stay home now, and that might not be the worst thing. It’d take my mind off the weird emotions that shot through me at intervals.

  Panic. Happiness. Panic. Fear. Tha-thump, tha-thump. It was as if a giant had my heart on a string and had decided yo-yoing me around was the best fun.

  Pammy linked her arm through mine on the front porch, smacked her cherry-glossed lips, and then led me down the stairs and toward the street. We walked beneath an inky black sky and a blanket of stars, the smells of cut grass and barbequed meat drifting down the street.

  “This festival,” Pammy said, and inhaled deeply, “is one of the reasons I stay in this town.”

  “I thought you loved it here.”

  “I do and I don’t,” she replied. “I hate working as some rich bitch’s housekeeper, but I love the people here. The regular folks, you know? And the cooking. Did you know the Summer Festival was started in 1897?”

  “No,” I replied, mind only half on the information as we approached the center of town, passing wrought-iron lampposts and folks already snacking on barbeque or popcorn. One child stuffed in a mouthfuls of cotton candy, even though he was already green around the gills.

  “It was to commemorate the founding of the town, basically. Summit Springs was around for maybe thirty or forty years before the festival started, but this one dude, Paul Jackson-Smith, he—”